


Misunderstandings

by PatchworkIdeas



Series: WinterFRE 2020 [32]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (due to said trip), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Gen, Kili takes it with Humor, M/M, Sleep and Food Deprivation, Trips gone wrong, spooky house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkIdeas/pseuds/PatchworkIdeas
Summary: Kili is desperate. Desperate enough even to knock on the door ofthathouse.
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Series: WinterFRE 2020 [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604650
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36
Collections: GatheringFiKi - Winter FRE 2020





	Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompt Nr.187:  
> There’s an old house at the end of the lane that’s not abandoned, but no one ever sees the occupant. One day Character A finds out why.

There’s only one house with the lights still on. Little wonder, it’s three a.m. and Kili has just come back from one of the worst trips he's ever had. It started with the bloody bus breaking down while abroad, and included missed flights, losing his bags, and hitchhiking across half the continent.  
He’s tired. He’s broke. And he’s hungry.

On any other day, at any other time, this would easily be dealt with. But he can’t use the ATM without his bank card, which was in his bag (and is, by now, luckily invalidated). And he can’t get a new one before the bank opens. Or, if he’s especially unlucky, before he gets his bloody papers replaced.  
So - broke.

His trip lasted for over a month. He used up his fresh food before, of course, and had been looking forward to at least opening himself up a can of soup, or _something_ , as his first food in roughly thirty hours, which was when his last bag of crackers ran out.

And then.  
At three fucking o’clock in the bloody morning.  
His can opener broke.

He tried knives. He tried every. bloody. thing he could think of including throwing the darn can against the wall, with exactly as much success as one would expect from such behavior.  
He tried falling into bed, clothes still on because fuck him and fuck his life and he needed this day to bloody _end_. Now. Please.

His stomach growled loud enough it might wake the neighbors, never mind him.

So, here he is. Out on the bloody street. In the bloody cold. At three in the morning.  
And the only house with any lights on at all is that old house at the end of the lane.

The Spooky One.

It isn’t haunted so much, really. It obviously has an occupant, the post gets delivered and doesn’t pile up, lights can occasionally be seen and, well, there is that odd hammering sound that rings out from it occasionally. Among other, weirder sounds that nobody really knows what to make of. They aren’t loud enough to actually bother anyone, just soft enough to hear when walking in front of it, but they only strengthen all the weird stories. After all, nobody has ever seen the person living there, though there are rumors about strange people shambling in in the middle of the night and apparently never being seen again. There is no name at the front, no way to know whether it’s a man or a woman even, and the windows are clean, but the curtains are always closed.  
They say nobody ever opens the door.  
With how nosy his neighbors can be, he has no doubt plenty have knocked.

Still, there's a light just barely sneaking past the curtains, he is _hungry_ and he has to try.  
At this point, he feels like he’d rather be _eaten_ than not eat anything himself.

So, he knocks. And he prays. And he’s so bloody tired that he isn’t sure anymore if it’s for the other to open the door - and have a can opener they are nice enough to share - or that, if the occupant happens to be an axe murderer, that his end will at least be swift. With his current luck, he has little hope for either.  
He knocks again. Just to be sure.  
And a third time, because fuck it, he’s desperate and he knows too damn well that nobody else will do anything but slam the door back in his face if he wakes them in the middle of the night like a madman.

At least someone who isn’t ever seen can’t gossip.

When he knocks a fourth time, now with his head and with little hope for anything but knocking himself out and maybe keeping the frustrated tears away, the door is suddenly yanked open, causing him to stumble forward, off balance, before he’s unexpectedly caught by strong arms.  
Very, very strong arms, if those muscles are anything to go by.  
Connected to a strong upper body, and a fair face framed by golden locks, looking at him with the most gorgeous blue eyes that Kili has ever seen. The stranger looks as shocked as Kili feels, and Kili hastily jumps back, overcompensating and almost falling down the stairs leading to the front door. Luckily, the stranger’s reflexes are excellent and his arms shoot out to steady Kili, keeping him upright.  
The arms don’t leave, and Kili’s extremely glad for it - the sudden movement and shock, combined with both lack of sleep and food compound into a nauseating carousel ride and Kili feels like he’ll float off without the hands steadying him. Right down those stairs, without a doubt.

When the unwanted spinning finally stops and he feels he might even stay upright under his own power again, he mumbles his apology.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to fall on you. I just need some help. Do you have a can-opener?”

He isn’t sure how much sense he’s making, words breathy and blood still rushing through his ears - too long, definitely too long and too much and he’s getting too old for this shit, 25 or not - and is starting to curse himself for maybe ruining his only chance for food, when the stranger roughly pulls him inside.

Axe murderer then. Of course. Fuck it, at least his murderer is hot.

What he puts up can’t even be called a token fight and before long he’s pushed into a surprisingly comfortable chair. In a surprisingly normal, if cluttered, kitchen.  
And then there’s a bowl of soup in front of him, accompanied by a rough “eat” and he doesn’t have to be told twice, manners or sense be damned. If he’s going to die by poison, then at least his stomach will be full.

Delicious poison, too.

The bowl is empty all too soon, and he would be tempted to lick off the last bits if he wasn’t suddenly painfully aware of the gorgeous man now sitting opposite him, pinning Kili with those gorgeous blue eyes.

Gorgeous everything really.

The man is shorter than Kili, but with the kind of build and muscle that screams “I work hard for my living”, the kind Kili might have seen on lumberjacks in certain magazines he definitely never looks at. The long blond locks are braided and yet still messily frame his face, strong nose (didn’t that mean long…) and the most ridiculous beard Kili has ever seen - framing lips that might belong to a model.  
What the hell?

Catching on to his own inappropriate behavior just fast enough to see one golden brow, delicately lifted, Kili hastily turns his eyes onto the empty dish. “Ehm, thank you. Very, very much. You kinda really saved me there.” He’s still mumbling, but at least his voice can be heard now, and the world has stopped its spinning.

“Don’t worry about it. Come on.” And before Kili quite understands what’s going on, the stranger hauls him up again, presumably out the door, except, no, that’s a bedroom.

Why is he in a bedroom? The stranger removes the covers in the same movement as he pushes Kili into the bed, and he should be worried, very, very, very much worried except the stranger pulls the blankets over Kili, tucking him in, nothing but another rough “Sleep. You’re safe here.” And nothing makes much sense except that the covers are soft and warm and maybe there was something in that soup after all because he is out like a light before the door closes behind his neighbour.

-

A strange sound wakes him. It sounds a bit like the wailing of the damned to Kili’s sleep addled brain. He looks around the unfamiliar room, confused where he is and how he got here and where that unholy noise is coming from. He vaguely recalls meeting someone new again but can’t quite tell if it was a dream. Except here he is. Hadn't he made it home yesterday?  
He clumsily rolls out of the bed, noting that he slept in his clothes yet another night - and that his stomach is growling at him. Again.  
…He still doesn’t have a can opener.  
Or money.  
Or much of an idea of what’s even going on anymore.

The latter at least, he can do something about.  
He walks out of the room, feeling silly at his soft “Hello?” that’s more instinct than sense. It’s not like it can be heard above the noise anyway.

It stops regardless and not long after a stranger rounds the corner. It takes Kili a moment to catch on. His apparent neighbor is wearing a strange kind of metal mask, pushed up above his face and every inch of cloth is hidden under thick leathers and fabrics Kili can’t name if his life depended on it.

He is wordlessly manhandled into the kitchen again. Kili haws and hems, completely out of his element and very much not understanding what is going on - but gets another soup despite his inability to find words.  
It smells good and his stomach growls and his neighbor just lifts another brow when he doesn’t tuck in immediately. Fuck it. Whatever propriety he had is long gone anyway.

This time he enjoys his meal, lots of fresh veggies and chicken in a deliciously light broth, and looks around the cluttered kitchen. It’s not dirty at all, but there are strange metal disks and figurines and Kili takes the strange clothing and the noise and arrives to “You make metal arts?” His neighbour looks at him over his shoulders, shrugging, before going back to collecting some papers. It isn’t long though before he joins Kili at the table, a stack of papers in front of him.

He motions for Kili to keep eating and only starts talking after Kili obliges. “I have some information here that can help you long-term. People who can help you better then I can. I know I have a reputation out there, but while I don't turn away anyone who’s desperate, you can’t stay here for long. I’ll go through them with you when you are done eating, but after that you have to leave, ok?”

And Kili is blinking at him, spoon halfway to his mouth, brain not quite catching up. Until it does.  
He hadn’t slept for days. He hadn’t eaten for days. He hadn’t thought to change his bloody clothes because he was so fucking hungry. He probably reeks.

The papers say Homeless-Shelter in Big Bold Letters.  
He drops the spoon, hides his face in his hands and keens.

Never. Never, ever, ever, has he been this embarrassed before.  
Here, he finally gets to meet his gorgeous recluse of a neighbor, one who’s apparently kind, makes art and cooks like a god.

And he thinks Kili is a bum.

When he finally manages to peek through his fingers, knowing that no amount of hiding will solve this mess of a situation, the other is still looking at him, lips pressed and obviously unimpressed, “We can go through them together or you can leave now. Your choice.” are his only words, no inflection at all.

Kili looks at him for a long moment, takes a deep breath, and figures it can’t get much worse anyway.  
Can’t gossip if he’s never seen, right?  
He thrusts out his hand, puts on his most charming grin and, with artificial cheer, introduces himself:  
“Kili Durin, from 59. Nice to finally meet you neighbor!”

“...What?”

At least this time he isn’t the one confused.

-

It takes a while to explain but considering what kind of week he’s had and that this is already the strangest thing to ever happen to him anyway, Kili figures he might as well give his neighbor the whole sordid story of how he got to be on his doorstep, swooning from hunger and exhausted beyond belief.

Fili, as the other eventually introduces himself, doesn’t actually believe Kili until he pulls out his keys and invites him over.

He still doesn’t have any can-opener, his neighbour apparently dislikes canned food, but Fili is kind enough to fill a bag full of food from his own pantry, bread and meats and a big container that he fills with soup, before they make their way out and over to Kili’s house.  
That’ll give the neighbors something to talk about, Kili giddily thinks, seeing Mr. Jones surreptitiously peeking over his hedge at the one neighbor no one has ever seen before.  
Or maybe at Kili’s appearance, though he hopes Fili will make for better gossip.

So now here they are - in Kili’s kitchen, eating homemade cookies while Kili shows off picture after picture from his latest trip, Fili humming appreciatively at each and every one.

“I’ve never traveled myself, to be honest, don’t much like to go out.”

And that’s apparently all there is to it - Fili prefers to stay at home and work on his art, making a living by selling unique sculptures and metal bits online, which the postman - who is a friend of Fili’s and apparently likes to play jokes on nosy neighbors - collects when he delivers Fili’s post and groceries.  
Fili worked with homeless people before his art business took off and, while he has little urge to go out and socialize, he’s still got a reputation for being willing to help in an emergency - something the homeless community (Kili hadn't even known that was a thing) apparently appreciates.  
Fili isn’t against making friends - he’s just never heard the door, considering that nobody seems to ever think to knock when he isn’t either asleep or mid-project and is thus too busy to answer.  
To answer anyone not desperate enough to keep hammering at his door at least.

They have a good laugh about it in the end, and Kili’s invited back when he shows interest in Fili’s art.

After a shower, though.

It’s a strange start to a strange friendship, but if Kili’s learned anything on his travels, it’s that those can be the most beautiful of all.


End file.
